Adam (aodh) wrote,

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get over yourself already

On Friday I attended a workshop on how to get published. I don't know what I was expecting, but what I got wasn't it; the workshop was next to useless, though Amanda thought it was incredibly informative. After I expressed my opinion, Amanda said, "I hate going to things like this with you, because you always say you don't enjoy them!" I'm sorry, but I'm not going to sugar-coat my feelings. If it's useless, it's useless, and that's all there is to it. I'm not a short story writer, I don't write in the presenting authors' genre, I'm not an idiot, and I've already researched this in the past. That right there made 98% of the given information useless. Plus, all the man has published is a book of very poorly written short stories. Why am I such an asshole for not appreciating that fact?

I know I don't talk much about my writing in this journal - hell, I don't talk about much of anything in this journal, let alone writing - but writing is a very important part of my life. I've considered myself a writer since the first grade, when I wrote a story about a princess and a rabbit, and ever since I've written as much and as often as I can. These days I tend to write Young Adult (read: teenage) fiction of various subgenres, mystery and (urban) fantasy being two favorites. Generally I am inspired by what I read, and since I've been reading like a motherfucker lately I've also been pretty inspired. And you see, the best way to get published - and the one thing that the presenter at that workshop did not mention - is to write. Yeah, it may be obvious, but it's something that should not be ignored.

Lately I've been trying to write more because I've come to the conclusion that what I really want to be when I grow up is an author. I don't expect to be famous or well-known or even particularly popular. I just want to write because it's what I do, what I enjoy doing, and what I do best. However, until I build up my portfolio, I'll just stick to my day job. And odds are that's about all you'll see of my writing habits in this journal for a good long time. Well, okay, probably until November, when NaNoWriMo strikes again.

On a lighter note, the sell-by date of the can of tuna I used in my Tuna Helper today was December 2002. If I die, I leave everything to my cats.
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